Bad Day's Night
by alanwolfmoon
Summary: House has a bad day with his leg, Cuddy takes him home, stuff insues


****

One year after House's infarction...

House sighed.

He was sitting at the nurse's station in the main lobby, hiding most of himself behind the counter, just his eyes and forehead peaking over the edge so he could see into his new boss's office. She had just sat down at her desk again, and he could no longer see her ass.

"What are you doing?"

House glanced at Wilson briefly, mildly irritated.

"I'm not here."

"Yes you are."

"No, I'm not. Stop talking to me."

Wilson crouched down next to House.

"What are you doing, anyway?"

"Watching that lady."

"Yeah, I figured that. Her name's Cuddy, which you should already know, given she's your boss, and has been your primary doctor for the past year. Watching her do what and why?"

"Exactly."

Wilson looked at House, curious.

"You don't have any real motive, do you?"

"Yes I do. That cleavage is motive enough for anything."

"Wow, I thought you said she was the emblem of all evil. I guess I really heard you wrong..."

"She is, her cleavage on the other hand..."

"Her cleavage is technically just showing more of her than no cleavage does..."

House glared sideways at his friend.

"Go away. Your argument sucks anyway."

"No." Wilson replied indignantly.

"Seriously, go away."

"Seriously, no."

"Go. Away."

"No."

"Go."

"No."

House sighed, giving up.

"I can't believe I didn't notice she was hot when I was in the hospital, even if I was in severe pain."

Wilson stared at his friend. He had been starting to wonder if House would ever get over Stacy enough to make a comment like that again. Apparently he just had.

"Well, you can keep staring, but some guy left ten messages on your phone in the last hour. Say's he wants to talk to you about you hiring his son."

"I didn't say tell people I was hiring..."

"I didn't tell anyone, the guy just called."

"On second thought, she is evil..." muttered house, now glaring instead of peaking.

Wilson rolled his eyes.

**Five years later...**

"Where's House?"

Wilson looked up from sorting through a large stack of papers.

"I don't know, ask his team."

"I already did. They said he dropped in and diagnosed their patient in two minutes, then left."

"Oh. Well, I suppose since he filled his quota for the week he decided he could leave."

"One problem with that theory. Nobody saw him leave, and he hasn't signed out yet."

Wilson tilted his head, looking past Cuddy.

She turned.

The hallway was empty.

"What?"

Wilson shrugged.

"It's just that if I didn't know better, I'd say he might just be in that closet just around the corner. The one Cameron was yelling at for half an hour earlier. If I didn't know better."

Cuddy walked out.

"What are you doing in there?"

"Well either I'm having sex with the floor buffer, or I'm hiding. Honestly, neither of them sound particularly pleasant, so how about we forget I was ever in here?"

"No. What are you doing in there?"

"Hiding."

"From what? You piss off yet another patient? It better not be a cop again."

"Didn't piss off anybody."

"Right."

"Well, yeah, I did, but that's not why I'm hiding. That is why I put my name tag on one of the ducklings, but it's not why I'm hiding."

"Then why are you hiding?"

"On second thought, yeah, that's why I'm hiding."

"House."

"I got Cameron mad at me, and I'm cowering in fear of her awesome powers of sugary revenge."

"House."

House sighed.

"That's the reason, ok?"

Cuddy sighed as well, shaking her head.

"No, not ok, but I doubt I want to know the real reason."

House nodded, and Cuddy raised an eyebrow, looking at his lanky form crammed into the bottom of the closet.

"Can you even get out of there?"

"No. Why else do you think I'd be sitting in the bottom of a closet for hours?"

Cuddy sighed again, and extended a hand downwards.

House glared at it for a moment, but eventually relented and grasped it, although grudgingly.

Cuddy pulled, and House pushed.

A moment later, Cuddy found herself blushing furiously, as he had been propelled forward against her chest by the momentum and the sudden lack of support provided by his right leg as it bent involuntarily.

"Get off." she said quietly, not really trusting her voice at any respectable volume.

"Can't." replied House through gritted teeth.

Cuddy swallowed, and hesitantly slid her arm under his, supporting him as she had once seen one of his students do.

His eyes were shut, which was probably a good thing, as it meant he couldn't see the color flooding her cheeks, but made it hard to judge what he wanted her to do.

"Just...down." he growled finally, and Cuddy obliged, kneeling down with him.

Cuddy bit her lower lip, watching him with worried eyes.

He wasn't bothering to glare at her.

That scared her.

"House? Are you ok?"

"Of course I'm not ok." he snapped.

Cuddy sighed, and reached into his jacket pocket.

"Where's your Vicodin?"

"Again, why else do you think I was sitting on the floor of a closet for hours?"

Cuddy gently squeezed his shoulder and headed off towards his office.

"Did you find him?" asked the only member of the diagnostics team who hadn't given up and gone home yet.

"Yeah. He was hiding from Cameron in a closet but he couldn't get back out. And, being him, he didn't call for help."

The guy snorted, shaking his head.

Cuddy dug through House's desk, producing several empty bottles.

The new duckling got up and grabbed a book off a shelf, flipping it open and handing Cuddy the bottle from within.

Cuddy raised an eyebrow.

He shrugged.

"You don't want to know."

Cuddy sighed, took the bottle, and left.

House didn't looked up when Cuddy came back over.

"Here." she shook out two vicodin for him.

He opened his palm, but didn't lift the pills to his mouth.

"You gonna take 'em? Cus they're not gonna do you any good in your hand."

House swallowed hard, and Cuddy understood.

He was really suffering right now.

Cuddy got up and walked back into House's office, retrieving his favourite coffee mug.

The duckling raised his eyebrows at that. He knew what it meant.

Cuddy filled the mug with water from the fountain across the hall from where House was leaning against the wall, pale, and trembling slightly.

"Ok, here House." she tried to hand him the mug.

He didn't take it, even when she put his fingers around the curved handle.

"House..."

Cuddy watched his face for a moment, trying to decide if he was being manipulative, or half conscious. She came to the conclusion that there was no way he would voluntarily let someone touch him like that, so he probably wasn't faking it.

She picked up the two pills, tilted his head back, dropped them in, and poured a small amount of water in after them.

He swallowed several times.

"How long?"

"Ah...six...hours."

"Idiot. But that's not what I meant. How long till it takes effect?"

"Ten...to fifteen...minutes."

Cuddy sighed, watching House, and sat down next to him.

He looked sideways at her, confused.

"You don't mind some company, do you?"

House shrugged.

"Usually not...an issue."

Cuddy laughed.

The creases on House's forehead deepened.

"What...are you...doing?"

"I just said, keeping you company."

House frowned.

"You don't like...my company."

Cuddy sighed.

"I don't like yelling at you, or being bugged by you, but I don't actually have a problem with you."

House looked away.

Cuddy blinked at him.

"If you want me to leave, I will."

He shook his head.

Cuddy leaned forward, so she could see past the back of his head.

He looked...unhappy.

"I'll leave." she moved to stand, but blinked, as a hand grasped the corner of her sleeve.

She looked back at House, and was surprised to see him still looking away, but this time with a small amount of color in his cheeks.

He let go of her sleeve.

She sat back down, watching him.

He looked tired.

"House?"

"What?"

"Were you seriously in there for six hours?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't you call anyone? Your phone wasn't on your desk, so you have it with you."

"I was stuck on the floor of a janitor's closet."

"For six hours, I know."

"Who was I gonna call that wouldn't find it an amusing...situation when I did."

"Am I laughing?"

"You would have been if I'd called you."

"House, no I wouldn't. You think I find your pain funny?"

"No, I think that the image that would have popped into your mind when I described the situation would have been funny because nobody thinks of an unpleasant image automatically. You wouldn't find the real image funny, just the made up one."

"Well that's nice. You think I don't know enough about your pain to not find even the idea funny? I'd be too busy bracing for the tsunami of complaints from clinic patients and demands for vicodin prescriptions to laugh."

House sighed.

Cuddy looked at him again.

He was still very pale.

"Are you ok?"

"Do I look ok?"

"No. I guess a better question would be how not ok are you?"

"Less not ok than seven minutes ago. Much more not ok than six hours ago."

Cuddy gripped the edge of her shirt, suppressing the urge to touch him. He wouldn't take comfort in it, he would just get annoyed.

She nearly shot out of her skin when she felt something touch her upper arm.

House was still staring fixedly at the empty hallway to his left, but he had scooted over very slightly, so his arm was just barely touching hers.

Cuddy opened her mouth, but the words that came out were changed by House suddenly tensing and jerking forward to lean over his thigh.

"House, what's wrong?"

He was trembling almost uncontrollably.

"House?"

It must have stiffened up while they were sitting there and started cramping when he moved...

Cuddy didn't know why she did it, or why he let her, but one moment she was watching him shake and gasp, the next she was holding him around the shoulders, his head pressing into her shoulder.

He made a small, confused noise, which was muffled by her shirt.

She nearly smiled. It was so rare for him to allow any contact, that his lack of protest compounded with his confusion contrasted starkly with his usual demeanor.

"Hang in there."

House grabbed her arm, holding tightly but not hurting her.

She blinked, very surprised.

"House?"

He didn't reply, but Cuddy felt him shaking harder.

"Is this gonna get better when the vicodin kicks in the rest of the way?"

He shook his head.

Cuddy looked around, found the hallway deserted, rolled her eyes, and pulled out her cellphone.

"You don't actually have to call me." commented Wilson, sticking his head around the corner.

"How long were you there?"

"For about ten moans after I figured out what they were."

Cuddy sighed, still supporting House.

Wilson reached down, put two fingers on House's neck and looked at his watch.

"Sheesh House, try and calm down, you're at one forty."

Cuddy looked up at Wilson, shocked.

"That high?"

She looked back, as House's grip on her forearm tightened.

Wilson glanced at House's hand on Cuddy's arm, surprised and a little worried.

"You were seriously in there for six hours?" asked Wilson, straightening.

"Yes..." replied House through gritted teeth.

Wilson sighed, shaking his head.

"Drive you home or shoo your ducklings away so you can crash in your office?"

"Home..."

Wilson nodded, heading back towards his office.

"I'll just get our stuff... you mind if I work on something when we get there? I gotta finish some stuff to get a patient into a trial."

Cuddy looked up.

"I'll take him home, you can stay."

Wilson shrugged.

"House?"

"Don't... care..."

"Okay, good night House."

"'night... Wil... son."

Cuddy sighed, as she finally got House into the passenger seat of her car.

He was pale, and she could see that he was still trembling.

Cuddy hadn't been the one to take House home in years. Not since those first months after Stacy left, when House had grudgingly allowed her to help if Wilson was too busy. She knew, theoretically, that he had bad days, days he would call in sick and not explain himself, days he and Wilson would leave early without asking; days when he overdid it, or tripped, or just plain woke up and found he couldn't stand. They weren't that often, rarely happening more than once a month, but she could tell he came back in before he was feeling better, knew he hated letting his students think he couldn't handle it.

"Ready?" she asked, knowing he wasn't.

"Yes."

She pulled out of the parking lot carefully, going around the edge of the lot instead of straight through, to avoid the speed bumps.

When she glanced sideways to check the mirror she saw that House was holding the edge of the cupholder on the door in a death grip, eyes squeezed shut, biting his lip.

She slowed down a little, earning several annoyed honks from the person behind her.

House's grip slackened very slightly.

When they finally pulled up in front of House's apartment, Cuddy winced. She had forgotten about those damned stairs... why did he live in a place with stairs in front anyway?

She walked around the car, opening the passenger door.  
House leaned forward gingerly, moving only his torso.  
Cuddy pulled his cane out of the backseat, handing it to him.  
He slid his hands under his bad leg, lifting it as he turned towards the open space.  
Cuddy slipped her hands under his armpits, lifting and steadying.  
She wasn't entirely surprised when she ended up doing significantly more lifting than steadying, and pushed him backwards slightly, so he was braced against her car.

"Lemme just close the door, ok?" she asked, still supporting him.

He only nodded, swallowing dryly, eyes still shut.

Cuddy let go, reached for the door, and quickly grabbed him around the shoulders as he sild down the side of the car, trembling uncontrollably again.

She gently lowered him the rest of the way, his back against her chest.

"House?"

"Nnnhnnn..."

"Shh, hey, it's ok..." she murmured softly, as he shook, holding his right leg with white knuckled hands.

He didn't say anything in reply, and she gently rubbed his shoulder, waiting for the pain to fade.

Fifteen minutes later Cuddy felt him slowly relax, head leaning back to rest on her shoulder.

Cuddy said nothing, letting House calm down, letting him center himself.

"Cuddy..." he said after a while.

"Yeah?"

"Leggo..."

Cuddy released her light grip on his shoulder.

He didn't say anything else, but started to push himself back up, intent on getting into his apartment so he could lie down as soon as possible.

Cuddy stood as soon as he was no longer leaning against her, ready to steady or lift him.

House made it all the way up without help, but his right foot wasn't touching the ground and he was leaning heavily on both the car and his cane.

Cuddy shut the door, then wordlessly slipped under his right arm, taking the weight that had been on his cane.

They made it to the stairs without incident, then paused, getting ready for the five steps of inclined torture.

"Ready?" asked Cuddy softly, after they had stood there for over a minute.

House nodded, not trusting his voice.

Right leg.

Cuddy.

Lean on shoulder.

Left leg.

Shut mouth.

Wait.

Repeat.

Three steps up, House inhaled sharply, and Cuddy nearly lost her balance as he leant fully on her, his leg going out completely once again.

"House?" she asked, wondering if he wanted to just rest right there.

"Dammit!" he growled, obviously frustrated.

Cuddy waited for him to either move or tell her what to do, but he stayed silent, evidently too focused on staying upright to think beyond maintaining the status-quo.

"House?" she asked, noticing that he was beginning to tremble again.

He didn't answer her, and she craned her neck, trying to get a glimpse of his expression. His face was twisted into a grimace of pain, and he had bitten his lip bloody.

Cuddy looked desperately around for a neighbor or jogger or anyone who could help. Nobody. Wilson could probably just lift House, if it came down to it; House was skinnier than he should be, and Wilson was only a few inches shorter than him. Cuddy... couldn't.

"House, can you turn, just a little, so if you sit down you'll end up on a higher step?"

House didn't bother replying, he just complied, pivoting very slightly on his left leg.

Cuddy lowered him, turning him as she did so, his bottom ending up on the top step.

She sat down next to him, not touching, just close.

He bent over his leg, rubbing back and forth, trying to get the muscle to calm.

It didn't seem to be working.

Twenty minutes later, House finally collapsed onto his couch, turning so his back was to Cuddy and the rest of the room.

Cuddy watched him for a moment, then walked to his kitchen, intending to get him something to drink.

She began wonder if this wasn't his first bad day this week, as there was evidence that he had been paying even less attention to his dishes than usual.

When she came back into the living room, carrying a glass of water, she found that House had turned his tv on high volume, discouraging conversation.

Cuddy placed the glass on the table next to the couch.

"You want anything else?"

No reply.

Cuddy took that as a no, and retreated to the kitchen, sitting down on one of the stools.

She picked up one of the journals scattering the surface, realized it was in Hindi, and looked for a different one.

About a half hour later, she was surprised to hear the tv go off, and a quiet call of her name.

She got up, still carrying to journal, in an effort to let House know she hadn't been worrying about him the whole time.

He was sitting up, which she was glad to see, but he looked like he was about to pass out, which pretty much canceled out any gladness.

"You say something?" she asked after a moment.

"Yes."

...

"It's not getting better. I'm just gonna go to bed."

"Ok..." she was a bit confused. One of his rules was that once he was officially "home" he wouldn't accept more help getting around, no matter how much it hurt.

"And my cane is by the door."

"Oh." she said, her expression clearing.

She got it and walked back, handing it to him.

He waited until she went back into the kitchen, then pushed himself up, right foot off the ground.

Cuddy looked around the corner as she heard a thump and a soft curse come from the livingroom.

House was sprawled on the floor, obviously in pain.

Cuddy knelt next to him, placing a hand on his back.

"Goddammit..." he growled quietly, "goddamn leg... goddamn cane... goddamn floor..." he continued in this manner for a while, never louder than a whisper. Cuddy wondered if he even could talk at normal volume right now.

Eventually the soft tirade tapered off, and he just laid there, unable to move. Cuddy softly rubbed his back, waiting with him.

More than thirty minutes passed before she felt him start to shift beneath her hand. Cuddy moved to the right, so he could roll over without having his bad leg in the air. House didn't look at her, his eyes were shut, and his face was deathly pale.

"How bad?" she asked quietly.

"Eight. Almost nine." his voice was still soft.

"You wanna try and get somewhere more comfortable?"

"No. I'd pass out."

Cuddy gently placed a hand on his shoulder, not squeezing or rubbing, just resting it there.

"You want me to get you anything?"

"No..." he said, opening his eyes.

"Not even just a pillow or something?"

"No." that was the most forceful noise she had heard out of him for a while, so she shut up.

"No..." he repeated, more quietly, "no, I'm used to it."

Cuddy knew he was testing her, and wondered if he actually thought she pitied him. She didn't. She just hated herself for what she had participated in, and felt compassion for him as, at least according to her, her friend.

"Ok. Sorry."

He watched her face for a moment, then nodded almost imperceptibly. "Pillow'd be nice."

Cuddy smiled slightly, getting up and retrieving one from his bed. She paused, as she found herself leaning over the bed, reaching for the second pillow, staring straight into her own face. House had a picture of her next to his bed? Not even one of her in a low cut top. A picture of her and House arguing. It was right next to one of Wilson and House, sitting in what looked like exam room two, laughing. But if House was in those two pictures, who had taken them? It hadn't been that long ago, judging by the tie and shirt present...

She frowned, as she heard a knock, then a faint call of her name.

She walked back out to the livingroom.

"You can finish wondering later, get the door."

Cuddy blinked, surprised he didn't have a problem with someone seeing him like that.

"It's Wilson. He's gonna think I sent you home and konked out on vicodin."

Cuddy nodded, walking towards the now rather frantically banging sound of Wilson's knocking.

Wilson nearly hit Cuddy on the nose, she opened the door with so little warning. He was used to hearing House's thumping approach...

"Oh. Hi Cuddy. How's House?"

"Never better." commented House from the floor.

Wilson tilted his head to see past Cuddy, then sighed.

"House, are you ok?"

"What do you think?"

Wilson rolled his eyes, then met Cuddy's.

"I see he hasn't totally driven you to the end of your rope. Honestly, I'm impressed."

"I am here you know."

"Yes, I was figuring you would take it as a compliment."

House didn't seem to find that funny, which made Wilson sigh again.

Cuddy walked back into the apartment, Wilson following.

"You wanna get on the bed?" asked Wilson, standing over House, hands on hips.

House just blinked tiredly at him.

Wilson's shoulders drooped.

House had been acting so cheerful, for House, that Wilson had assumed he was feeling, if not ok, at least better than earlier.

"Sorry."

House shook his head, but closed his eyes, cutting off any possibility of further communication.

Wilson bent down, briefly touched House's shoulder, and headed off toward the kitchen.

Cuddy handed House one of the pillows, which he stuffed behind his head.

She waited until he opened his eyes again, then held up the second pillow.

"House?"

He seemed to think for a moment.

"Careful." he was still so quiet...

Cuddy very, very gently lifted his bad leg, just enough to slide the pillow under the knee. When she looked back at House, she found that she was glad he had put the pillow behind his head. His neck was arching, his head pressed down into the newly cushioned floor, his expression a grimace of pain.

"House, I'm sorry." she said, feeling awful.

"Not... prob... lem." he said, forcing the syllables out in short bursts.

Cuddy watched him slowly relax, muscle by muscle. It took five minutes for his shoulder blades to touch the ground.

"House. You're an idiot."

Cuddy looked up, surprised by Wilson's blunt tone and words.

"As much as I love seeing you suffer, I'd better point out that the pain's only gonna get worse if you stay on the floor. Or on the couch."

House looked sideways at his friend, too tired to turn his head.

"I know." he sounded so drained...

Wilson sighed.

"You're exhausted, aren't you?"

"Yes."

Wilson shook his head.

"Can you even sit up?"

"No. Not without passing out."

Wilson nodded.

"One last question. Why the hell haven't you had Cuddy get your morphine? You obviously need to take it. And don't tell me it's because you were embarrassed about taking drugs."

"Cus I didn't want a lecture about keeping morphine in my apartment."

Wilson rolled his eyes.

"Cuddy, would you have lectured him?"

Cuddy thought for a moment.

"Might have sighed exasperatedly, but no, I wouldn't have lectured."

"Fine..." grumbled House.

Wilson got up and grabbed a step stool from behind the door to House's bedroom.

Cuddy retreated to the kitchen, starting something resembling dinner, for her and Wilson at least, even if House was too out of it to eat.

"You're really worrying Cuddy."

House blinked slowly at Wilson.

Wilson sighed yet again.

"You're half out already, huh?"

House didn't answer.

Wilson gave House's shoulder an affectionate and gentle squeeze.

"You rest, ok?"

House nodded sleepily.

Cuddy sat next to House on his bed, watching him twitch and mumble in his sleep.

"House?" she asked, after a particularly loud mumble that had sounded more like an upset whimper.

His eyes opened, and he looked sleepily up at her.

"What?"

"You were dreaming."

"Oh. I was."

"How's the leg?"

"How's the food I smell cooking in the kitchen?"

Cuddy smiled slightly.

"Wilson's cooking it so... pretty darn good."

"Take the exact opposite of that, and you've got your answer."

Cuddy nodded.

"Better than earlier though?"

"Yes."

Cuddy watched him fidget for a while, then got bored.

"Where'd those pictures come from?"

"Lady Chase and Cameron are hiring as their wedding photographer."

Cuddy tilted her head.

"Why was she taking pictures at the hospital though?"

"Came by for a checkup."

Cuddy blinked.

"Emma Sloan?"

"Yes."

Cuddy didn't say anything else, and House's eyes slowly started to close again.

Wilson came in, bearing two plates.

"Hey. You awake?"

House blinked, half asleep.

"Yes. Dunno. What?"

Wilson laughed.

"I'll take that as a no. Food."

House seemed to wake up at that.

Wilson handed them each a plate, with some unidentifiable but delicious smelling mix of food on them.

"Thanks Wilson." said Cuddy.

Wilson looked down as his pager beeped.

"Hate to cook and run, but one of my patients coded..."

Cuddy waved goodbye, and House nodded.

Wilson left, hurrying.

"House?" asked Cuddy, about ten minutes later, noticing he hadn't touched his food.

"Not hungry. Morphine."

Cuddy nodded.

"You should still eat though."

House shrugged, putting his plate on the table next to the two photographs.

"House, come on. You're exhausted, you should eat something."

House closed his eyes.

"House?"

"Tired..."

Cuddy frowned, sitting up.

"House, you didn't take that much morphine, you shouldn't be this hazy..."

"Not hazy. Tired. Hurts."

Cuddy put her fingers on his artery, checking his pulse.

It was fast, so this wasn't an overdose...

"I'm just tired, ok? Tired, and my leg hurts."

Cuddy waited for a while, but he did just seem to be falling asleep.

An hour later, Cuddy jerked awake, blinking at the unfamiliar setting. House's apartment. Why had she woken up though? She looked to her left, as she heard a tense, nasal sound, almost a moan. House was curled on his right side, covers thrown off, bad leg bent, left straight.

"House?"

"Nnhnnh..."

Cuddy sat up quickly, leaning over him.

"House?"

"Ooww..." he moaned.

"House what is it? Your leg? House?"

He nodded weakly.

"The morphine wear off?"

He shook his head just as weakly.

"House, what's making it that bad?"

"Falling... stretch..."

Cuddy felt her heart constrict, as she watched him lay there, panting.

"What should I do?"

"N-noth... ing..."

"House, I can't just–"

"Won't... he-help... noth–"

"Ok. Ok, I'll shut up." she cut him off, sitting back against the pillow.

It was uncomfortable, sitting there next to him while he was in so much pain, but it was also oddly right. Like she would have been more uncomfortable elsewhere, knowing he was hurting that badly.

After a while she looked down, checking how he was doing.

He was still pale, still trembling, still panting, still not moving... there were beads of sweat on his face, his shirt was soaked...

Cuddy took in a deep breath, then rested her hand on his tense back. He had allowed that earlier, and she wanted to do something to help him.

She rubbed softly back and forth, slowly and steadily, at about a quarter the rate of his breathing. He didn't protest or flinch, so she continued.

Cuddy blinked, as House reached back, pushed her hand away, took in a deep breath, and rolled onto his back, head ending up on her shoulder.

"House?"

He didn't answer, but when she put her hand on his right shoulder, he didn't yell at her.

About thirty minutes later, she was still softly running her hand over his shoulder, when she noticed his eyes were starting to droop shut. She smiled very slightly, the rhythm of his breathing slowing to the same speed as her hand. He finally fell asleep, but she kept rubbing, worried that a sudden stop would wake him.

The next thing Cuddy and House knew, Wilson was standing at the end of the bed, a beaten up tv table sporting breakfast, vicodin and a small dose of morphine standing next to his left hip, which was sporting one of his hands.

House didn't sit up, but Cuddy did, blinking and wondering why she was in House's bed, next to House.

"House, wake up. Good morning Cuddy."

Cuddy blinked, still sleep hazy.

"What?"

Wilson grinned.

"Good morning Cuddy."

"Oh... what..." she stopped, having remembered what had preceded, "good morning."

"House, wake up already." said Wilson.

Cuddy looked at House.

"He's awake."

Wilson frowned, walking around the bed to stand next to House.

"House?"

House blinked slowly at him.

Wilson frowned further, resting the back of his hand on House's forehead.

"Oh jeeze House, are you sick or is that from the pain?"

"Pain." answered House listlessly.

Wilson sighed.

"How long?"

"What?"

"How long has it been bad?"

"Two."

"Days or weeks?"

"Weeks."

Wilson rolled his eyes, taking a deep breath.

"You really, really need to talk more. And not hide in closets."

House didn't answer, and Wilson shook his head.

"I mean it House."

"Go 'way."

Wilson shook his head again, then looked at Cuddy.

"Sorry. Made breakfast."

"Thanks. I should go in..."

Wilson nodded, sitting down on the end of the bed, next to House's left foot.

Cuddy sat up, scootching forward so she could get at the food.

"House, are you hungry? You didn't eat dinner..."

"No."

Cuddy sighed.

Wilson frowned at House again.

"You're not hungry? Are you nauseous?"

"No."

"You're never not hungry. Why are you not hungry?"

"Pain."

Wilson rubbed the back of his neck, unhappy.

"It's been twelve hours."

"Go 'way."

Wilson sighed.

"You've gotta eat something House. Remember the last time you didn't?"

"Yes."

"Ok then. What do you want? I made pancakes... or eggs or–"

"E."

Wilson blinked.

"None of the above?"

"Yes."

"House..."

Cuddy looked between the two, worried.

"House, are you sure you're not sick?"

"Yes."

Cuddy watched Wilson frown at House.

"Are you sure you're–"

"Fine."

"Now that's just stupid. Denying how bad you feel, yes, that's just you. Denying that you feel bad while you're lying in bed not moving with a fever because you feel bad is just stupid.

"Go 'way."

"Wilson, I really have to go in, you have the day off..."

Wilson looked up.

"I've got three patient meetings today..."

Cuddy frowned.

"Ok..."

"You don't... have to... babysit... me... I'm forty... seven." said House, sounding annoyed and offended. And faint.

"Shush."

Wilson sighed.

"He's right though. We both do have to go in. Sorry House, I'll try and stop by at lunch. And eat your breakfast."

House rolled his eyes as Cuddy and Wilson left.

Cuddy frowned, as she saw her pager was flashing House's number.

She dialed, wondering what on earth could drive House to call her.

"Hello? House?"

"Wilson's with a patient. Won't pick up." Even. Calm. A little forced.

"Why do you need to talk to him?"

"Just do."

"I'll go check."

"Don't hang up. Bring the phone with you."

"It's my office phone, why–"

"Then hang up and call me on your cell."

Cuddy's eyebrows met, but she hung up, redialing.

"House?"

"Go find him."

"I'm going, but what–"

"Nothing. Promised I'd quiz him on his Spanish soaps. Help him learn the language. I'm bored and he missed doing it this morning."

"House, come on, just tell me–"

"Nothing. Shut up."

Cuddy sighed. He still sounded forced.

She went through House's office, onto the balcony, over the railing, and peeked through the glass door of Wilson's office.

"He's meeting with a patient. They're crying. I don't think this is a good time to interrupt."

"Just do it. Throw something at his door. Pile of rocks in the juniper's pot in the corner."

"That's not a juniper..."

"Whatever, don't care. Pick up rock, throw at door. Hurry up."

"Why the big rush?"

"You'll find out if you don't hurry. Now do it. I'm sure you can manage it."

Cuddy rolled her eyes, not that House could see them, and picked up a small stone.

Wilson didn't seem to notice, so she threw another one.

Wilson looked up, blinking, as though he were surprised to hear the clicks.

He got up, apologized to his patient, and came out onto the balcony.

"What? Is that House?"

"Yes. It's House, and I have no idea what's up, he just told me to give you the phone call since you weren't answering."

Wilson frowned, taking the phone from Cuddy.

"House?"

"I've fallen and I can't get up."

Wilson blinked.

"What?"

"I fell off the bed while trying to get at that stupid tv tray you left the food on because I was getting shaky from not eating. I can't get up. So get that lecturing ass in here before I pass out from pain and lack of food."

Wilson sighed.

"Can't you pull yourself up on the bed?"

"If I could, you'd think I would have done that a long time ago instead of trying for twenty minutes, giving up and calling you. Twelve times. With no answer. Honest estimate, if you leave in the next ten minutes I'll be conscious when you get here. After that, I seriously doubt it."

"House, you know me. But I can't. I'm with a patient, I have to admit her, she's reached the last stage, I just can't. I'm sorry. You know how sorry I am."

There was a long pause.

"Yes, I do." said House, grudgingly, "then get Chase or Foreman or someone over here. I don't care who, just someone. Even Cameron."

Wilson sighed.

"Can you go back? It's sort of an emergency."

Cuddy frowned, thinking.

"Yes. I only had one meeting today, and that's done with. The rest I can deal with tomorrow."

"Cuddy's coming."

"Good." Wilson winced, as he heard House's even tone waver.

"House?"

Silence.

"House, are you awake?"

"Yes." Faint. Strained. Weak.

Cuddy reached the bedroom, kneeling down next to him.

He was on the floor again, this time half conscious.

"House, here, come one."

Cuddy slipped her hands around his chest, pulling him to a sitting position.

"Ahhww..."

"House?"

"Ahhh..."

"House, did that hurt? I didn't even move your leg..."

"Haaa..."

Cuddy frowned, as House just panted rather than managing an attempt at answering.

"House. Listen to me. Did you hit anything when you fell?"

He turned his head away from her a little, breathing heavily.

"House, come on, answer the question."

"Yes..."

Cuddy sighed, palpitating through his thin nightshirt, trying to find what was hurting him other than his leg.

House reacted very slightly when she ran her hands along his left arm.

She frowned, pressing carefully, feeling for bumps or odd angles. She found none, but when she moved his wrist he made a louder groaning sound than he had been.

"You fall on your wrist?"

He nodded very, very slightly.

"Move it up and down?"

He did.

"Twist it?"

He tried, but gasped and stopped.

Cuddy sighed, unused to this child-like obedience.

"House, you at least cracked it. It's all swollen, how long were you on the floor before you called?"

"Least hour... maybe more... passed out."

"You hurt anything other than your wrist?"

"No..."

Cuddy shook her head.

"House, you are a mess."

House didn't reply.

She left, getting the morphine out of the kit she had seen Wilson use, then came back, gently pulling his right hand of his thigh so she could inject the drug into his uninjured arm.

Cuddy wrapped her arms around his chest, lifting him back onto the bed.

There was a split second when she thought everything had gone ok, but it ended abruptly as House slapped his right hand over his mouth, curling into a tight, trembling ball.

Cuddy, acting more on instinct than from the thought that it was a good idea, sat down on the bed, placing her arms around his shoulders and pulling him towards the pillows. A small sound, that might have been a muffled scream, forced its way past his hand, but he didn't pull away, and after a few minutes the intense pain from the second motion faded into the sea of agony he was afloat in.

Cuddy didn't know if he was going to hate her for this or not, but she kept her arms around him, trying to support him physically, if not emotionally.

Several hours later, he seemed to melt, the tense, trembling muscles relaxing, his lanky form curving into the support she was offering him.

"It better?" she asked softly, her head next to his ear.

He only nodded, letting his head rest back on her shoulder after the gesture was completed.

She opened her mouth to say something, but the words were lost, changed and driven away, by the wet dripping onto her arm. House was crying. She swallowed the lump in her throat, ignoring his tears. He would hate it if she acknowledged them.

"Number?"

"Seven..." he mumbled, his voice very quiet and subdued.

"You need another dose of morphine?"

He shook his head, just rocking it a little where it rested.

"It'll... resting... better... bed... more... than" he tried to elaborate on his silent answer, but it was too hard to focus on the words, and he knew his attempt had only made partial sense at best.

"Ok House, that's ok." Cuddy murmured, recognizing his extreme fatigue for what it was.

She couldn't rub his shoulder or back without either moving him or withdrawing her support, but she could feel his breathing slow as he drifted off, too tired to need help.

Cuddy didn't move, even after his breath had been steady and even for over half an hour. She didn't want to break his peace, even in his dreams. She knew, from experience just after the infarction, and from the few times Wilson had been too distressed at House's pain to keep it inside, that the worst was probably over, and that he wouldn't wake up no matter what she did. She still didn't want to chance it. He had fought too hard for this peace for her to take it away, even a little.

"Cuddy?" he rasped, voice cracking.

"Yes?"

"Your boobs are poking me." his voice was flat, too tired to force the ironic tone that would have made it funny.

She laughed a little, knowing what he meant.

"Is that a compliment?"

"It's not a complaint."

she laughed again, beginning to wriggle out from under him.

"Ah... don't." he said, lightly grasping her wrist with his right hand. She didn't know if his grip was light because he didn't want to force her, or because he was too weak to hold harder.

"Alright, I won't."

House nodded tiredly, his head lolling to the side.

Cuddy sighed to herself, wishing he were feeling better. It had been almost two days, and he was still obviously in pain, even if less severe.

She contemplated calling Wilson, having him bring a sedative so House could get to the hospital without being in pain from a cramped and jolting car ride, but she knew he would be angry. Going to the hospital meant his ducklings could see him, and that he had been unable to cope without real medical care would only make it worse. No, he was staying here. Although as soon as he was up to it, he was going to have to go in for x-rays and a splint, at the very least. That was a tolerable level of intervention though, and Cuddy doubted anyone would do anything other than roll his eyes, because hadn't they all told him he was going to kill himself on that motorcycle, and now here he was, proving their point.

House stirred a little, and Cuddy placed her hand on his chest, giving him an anchor other than the pain. He settled down, but his right hand twitched a little, and moved towards hers. She stayed completely still, as his eyes opened, and he glanced sideways at her.

"I hate this pain."

Cuddy closed her eyes, silent. Then she nodded.

"I hate myself that I did this to you."

House blinked very slowly.

"You should."

"I know, that's why I do."

**The next day...**

Cuddy looked up as someone knocked on the door to her office. She blinked. House had knocked? He didn't wait for her approval to come in though, and he sat down in front of her desk, looking a little pale and rather tired, but not hugely the worse for wear.

"Yes?" she asked, prompting him after several uncomfortably long moments of silence.

"Thanks."

She blinked, surprised.

"For not making me do the clinic duty I missed." he added quickly.

She smiled.

"You're welcome. Just don't use that excuse on a regular basis, ok? It'll get old."

He looked up, frowning. Then he grinned, understanding.

"You're good at this."

She laughed.

"I learned from the best."

He snickered, got stiffly to his feet, and limped out, his gait only a little more lopsided than usual.

She blinked, as he turned around, heading back towards her office.

"I forgot what I came in here for. God knows what got me distracted..."

Cuddy rolled her eyes.

"What?" she asked dryly, expecting a request for some sort of outrageous patient care.

"This. Some guy from... nevermind."

Cuddy blinked, watching him leave, then picked up the envelope he had dropped onto her desk.

She stared at the contents for a long time.

Inside was a paper slip, light orange in color, bearing the name of a concert, a date and time some few hours from the present, and an address of an outdoor theater she knew would have been sold out a month ago. She knew because she had tried to get tickets to this concert the day they went up for sale.

**Seven hours later...**

Cuddy wandered towards the queue waiting to get into the auditorium, wondering if this had been a thank-you or an invitation. With House it was impossible to tell, but she was happy to see the concert either way. She was guessing that it was a thank-you, after what he had said last night, but she couldn't be sure. It was House after all...

She frowned, seeing no evidence of anyone even resembling the six-two, scruffy, cane wielding diagnostician. She didn't really expect him to be here, but she wouldn't have been unhappy if he was...

Cuddy looked around, trying to find an empty patch of grass level enough to set her chair on. Her eyes alighted on a figure leaning on a tree, their exact features difficult to determine in the dark, their height and build hard differentiate from the shape of the tree they were leaning against. She paused, wondering why she hadn't already started heading in that direction. If it was House, what did it matter? It wasn't like he would ask her on a date or something, he was only interested because she was out of his reach and hot, he wouldn't ever actually want a relationship with her... if it wasn't him, it just meant that some guy about his height had happened to like music and outdoor performances... why did she care either way?

Cuddy frowned, realizing why she cared. She wanted it to be him. She certainly wanted to know he wasn't angry at her, but inside she knew there was something a bit deeper than that. She wanted him to be there, simply because she wanted him to be there. She wanted to be closer to him, maybe as a friend, maybe as more.

She clenched her hand on the small basket of hastily prepared food she had thrown together, the thin handle cutting into her fingers. On the absolutely minuscule chance that House of all people had asked her on a date, she wasn't going to accomplish anything by standing here, staring at some guy by a tree. She took a step towards the figure, standing maybe fifty feet away. Her heart jumped, as the guy turned, looking directly at her. It probably wasn't House, and the guy was probably a bit freaked that she was staring at him. He pushed himself off the tree with a hand, and she saw that he planted himself a bit off center, like he was leaning on something. Maybe it was House after all... she walked towards him, trying to just get this over with.

"Cuddy?"

She spun, having nearly swallowed her tongue at the sound of the familiar voice from behind her. No, the guy next to the tree was not House, the guy leaning against the wall next to the entrance, who she had passed without noticing over ten minutes ago was House.

"House?" she asked, a little too quickly.

House snorted, pushing himself off the wall and limping heavily towards her.

"Stunned that I wasn't in the crowd? Or just looking for a seat?"

"The latter."

House snorted again. Then he looked uncomfortable. Cuddy didn't blame him.

He pointed to an isle running between them and the stage, and she followed him, wondering when she would find out what he was getting at by dropping the ticket on her desk.

She was starting to wonder exactly where he was leading her, when they reached the end of the isle, turning to go along the edge of the stage. She blinked. How early had he gotten here?

There was a roped-off area in the center of the crowd, mostly filled, but with one empty blanket near the front edge. That seemed to be where he was leading her.

"House?" she asked, a little confused.

He looked back at her.

"You coming or what?"

She nodded, still confused. The people inside the roped off area seemed mostly to be reporters or crew, not random guys that had no professional connection to the concert... but he sat down anyway, gingerly lowering himself down.

Cuddy sat next to him, opening her mouth to ask, but was interrupted by the lights flashing on all around the stage, revealing the band in the center of the tan and brick theater.

House smirked, as she tried to talk to him through the noise of the applause. She rolled her eyes.

The clapping died down, but Cuddy still couldn't make herself heard, this time because House had stuffed some rather delicious, cake-like food into her mouth. She glared at him, but didn't spit whatever it was out, it was too tasty to waste.

"Don't. It doesn't matter why I got the tickets, ok?" he said, as she finished the stuff.

She frowned, but didn't ask about that.

"Why'd you invite me?"

House shrugged, looking away.

"I've hated you for a long time."

Cuddy looked away as well, offended, surprised, angry, confused, and wondering if he had any more of what he had put in her mouth. She decided to address the last emotion first.

"What was that?"

"The food?"

"Yeah."

"I don't know, Wilson made it."

Cuddy rolled her eyes.

"Of course he did."

House glanced at her, then looked at the stage, as the music started.

Cuddy watched him, frowning. If he had wanted to tell her that, he could have done it any time, and certainly without getting her front row tickets to a sold out concert first. He didn't seem angry, in fact she couldn't see any real emotions on his face at all.

"House?"

"What?"

"Why did that drive you to invite me to a concert?"

He shrugged.

"Come on House, if you didn't want me asking you should have lied and said Wilson dared you to or something."

House snorted.

Cuddy's eyes didn't leave his face.

"Watch the band."

Cuddy gave an exasperated sigh.

House glanced at her.

"Sorry."

She blinked.

"For what?"

"Never mind."

Cuddy sighed again, turning to look at the stage.

Cuddy looked back as House tapped her shoulder, not looking at her, but holding out a napkin with something that she guessed was more of what he had put in her mouth on it. She took it, then looked back at the stage.

The concert was very good, although she had a sneaking suspicion that the drummer was familiar, and wondered if he had been House's patient at some point or another. That would certainly explain the front row tickets.

It was nearing the end, maybe a half our left, during a break between songs while one of the members told a story, that Cuddy looked back at House, only to discover him watching her intently, the concentration in his expression rivaling that of the one he wore when he was stuck on a case.

"What?" she asked, frowning.

House sighed, running his hand over the back of his neck.

"Maybe for too long. If you've been doing it for yourself all these years, maybe that time counts as double. Maybe ten years is long enough."

It didn't take her any time to understand what he was talking about, what he meant.

"That's your call." she answered quietly.

He laughed, just once, just a quiet chuckle.

"I know. My choice."

Cuddy nodded, wondering where he was planing on taking this train of thought.

"This one isn't only mine though."

Cuddy's eyes widened, as he leaned close to her, looking straight into her surprised green eyes with his uncertain glacier blue ones.

"It'd kinda be nice if you said something..."

Cuddy smiled absently, lost in thought. She had wanted him to be there, she had wanted this to be more than a thank-you. She had wanted this to be something more than watching a concert with her long time employee and somewhat rival.

"Does it really require words?" she asked, closing the small distance between them.

She felt him smile beneath her lips.

**The next morning...**

Wilson looked up, as House entered the oncologist's office.

"How'd it go?"

"She liked the music."

Wilson's impossibly mobile eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hair.

"You're embarrassed. You. Embarrassed. Is there video, or am I going to have to use my imagination? I'm not sure I can do the later..."

House rolled his eyes, a bit too wound up to joke.

Wilson's eyebrows, impossible or not, went up even further.

"You told her. You flat out told her."

House nodded, leaning on the balcony door, staring out over the campus at large.

There was a thump from behind.

House glanced back at his friend. Wilson was on the floor, pretending to have fainted. House jabbed him with the rubber tip of his cane. Wilson jerked up, rubbing his stomach.

"You didn't have to poke me that hard..."

House rolled his eyes, unamused. Wilson grinned.

"You kissed her."

"Yes."

Wilson flopped back.

House poked him right between the eyes.

"Ow! That hurt!"

"Next time it'll be your balls, I'm serious here."

Wilson sighed, abandoning his humor.

"You seriously kissed her?"

"Yes, I already told you that."

"You kissed her or she kissed you?"

"Both happened."

"Yeah, but which happened first? And are you serious about this?"

"Yes, I am. I kind of leaned in, but she made the actual contact."

Wilson flopped back, hand over his eyes.

House's ducklings stared at the wall between them and Wilson's office, wondering who had just cried out in utter agony, and if it had anything to do with their later-than-usual boss.

When Wilson entered Cuddy's office, he was walking a little funny, but his face bore the largest grin Cuddy had ever seen it hold.

"You kissed him. What happened while you were helping him?"

She laughed.

"Nothing happened. Nothing that I thought would ever precipitate something like last night."

Wilson tilted his head, sitting down in the chair in front of her desk.

"You talked, didn't you? About his pain."

Cuddy frowned.

"Sort of."

"You talked in a way that let him know you don't pity him, but feel guilty about what happened."

Cuddy blinked, then sighed, resting her chin on her hands.

"He said he hated his pain. I said I hated that I did it to him. He said I should. I said I knew, that's why I did."

Wilson's grin widened, and Cuddy thought the bottom half of his face might just fall off.

"I can't believe this finally happened. Do you have any idea how long he's been trying to reconcile the fact he likes you with the fact you advised Stacy to do the surgery? Five years. Since the day he went back to work after his infarction."

Cuddy frowned.

"He was still furious at me then."

Wilson shrugged.

"That's not what he said. He said he couldn't believe he didn't notice how hot you were when he was in the hospital, even if he was in severe pain."

Cuddy sighed.

Wilson winced.

"Ok, let me put that into context. That was after he spent basically the entirety of the previous year staring at Stacy's photo. That was the first time he had mentioned the word 'hot' outside of conversations about the flaky thermostat and the broken air conditioning in his car in almost ten months. The time before that he had been cleaning out a box of junk and found a picture of Stacy naked."

Cuddy seemed a bit more impressed, and less exasperated after the explanation.

"Wait... you remember his exact words from five years ago?"

Wilson rubbed the back of his neck, shrugging.

"Um... I doubt they were exactly the same words... and it was the first thing he'd said or done that had the possibility of actually getting him un-depressed attached to it."

Cuddy frowned.

Wilson's pager beeped, and he glanced at it.

"I have to go, but good luck. He's worth it, even if nobody gets why."

Cuddy nodded, and Wilson left, still walking a bit funny.

She thought for a while, a small smile eventually forming on her lips. Wilson was right, House was worth it. He was worth all the weirdness and sarcasm and pain and pissed off cops that came with him.

Wilson watched off the balcony, as House, limping towards his car, turned, looking back towards the main entrance. Wilson saw Cuddy catch up with him, then walk with him for most of the distance to his car. He smiled quietly to himself as the two slightly blurry figures merged into one at the top.

House had dug himself the rest of the way out of his hole at last...


End file.
